


No Distance Left To Run

by neversaydie



Series: Somewhat Damaged [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Drunkenness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Natasha and Clint are Bros, Relationship Anxiety, Self-Harm Implied, Tony and Clint are Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been through too much together to have any pretense left between them. The rest of the team have limits, only so far they can push on certain issues before they've overstepped their boundaries and have to retreat. For Clint and Natasha, there's no such thing. They've fought like siblings and fucked like lovers and nearly bled out on each other, and there's nothing left to do but be honest.</p><p>"I'm ruining his life, Tasha."</p><p>"He can make that decision for himself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Distance Left To Run

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Self-harm implied, not shown. Alcohol abuse.
> 
> Phonetic Russian used: Pteechka (Птичка) – Birdie.  
> (Please note that I don't speak Russian and this knowledge came from a friend, backed up by Google, so it may not be correct. My apologies if so.)
> 
> Title is a song by Blur, which I recommend for Clint's headspace here.

 

"I thought you weren't supposed to drink with your new medicine?"

"I'm not."

Clint's face is a perfect mask of innocent confusion, eyes wide and only a little bleary. At least, it would be a perfect mask to anyone who didn't know his tricks like the inside of their own eyelids. Or who couldn't smell him. Natasha raises her eyebrow in a way that has made lesser men beg for their lives.

"Then why do you stink of rum?"

He doesn't answer. She shrugs, setting down her water bottle and sitting next to him on the stack of gym mats he's currently occupying. Not that it looks like he's planning to do any working out. He's listing sideways, propping himself up against the wall. A little drunk then, she assesses, not wasted.

"Rum though. That's pretty gay, even for you."

"Oh, I'm sorry Ms Neat Vodka." Clint rolls his eyes, letting his head fall wearily onto her shoulder. He sighs and nuzzles into her, always a little proud that she won't let anyone else get away with doing the same. "It's been a rough day."

"Yeah." She agrees, resting an arm across his broad shoulders. She's been in meetings since 8am, being asked to translate documents because apparently the Russian expert's on leave and no one at SHIELD knows slang well enough to crack a particular code.

She doesn't get paid enough for this, but somehow she's got herself attached to these morons she calls her friends, so she stays.

"Me and Phil had a fight."

Natasha never has to drag answers out of Clint, she knows if she waits quietly for long enough then he'll talk if he wants to. It was when he stopped talking that she started to worry, and the last time that happened he'd started smashing windows and scaring everyone to death, so she's still pretty confident in her instincts where he's concerned.

"So you decided to drink Jamaica?"

He huffs a bleak laugh at this, and she smiles softly into his limp, unwashed hair. They've been through too much together to have any pretense left between them. The rest of the team have limits, only so far they can push on certain issues before they've overstepped their boundaries and have to retreat. For Clint and Natasha, there's no such thing. They've fought like siblings and fucked like lovers and nearly bled out on each other, and there's nothing left to do but be honest. It works.

"It was either that or hack through an artery, so I figured this was the better option." Clint doesn't pull any punches when he talks to Natasha, and she doesn't flinch. He sighs harshly, burrowing into her side. "Tasha, I hate all this therapy bullshit."

"I know, pteechka." She rubs her hand up and down his arm, always a little awkward when dealing with feelings but trying to be a comfort. "Does it help?"

"Not really." The admission is quiet, hesitant. She waits for the rest. "That's what I was trying to tell Phil, but he wants me to keep going."

"So you keep going." He puts an arm around her waist and they hold onto each other, each steadying the other like they always have. "It won't hurt you to give it another try, for him. You've done worse."

"Torture's easy. This shit…" Clint makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat, lapsing into silence for a long minute before he continues. "I was going to leave. Packed up and everything."

"But you didn't." It sends a shower of ice into her gut that Clint came close to turning tail and leaving, but she doesn't let it show.

Natasha is nothing if not possessor of an excellent poker face.

"I didn't. But I would have." He's not crying, not choked up, but the flatness of his voice worries Natasha more than anything else. She might not be comfortable with displays of emotion, but she's used to them from Clint. When he stops, her alarm bells start ringing.

Her alarm bells are deafening right now.

"I'm ruining his life, Tasha."

"He can make that decision for himself." She knows nothing she says will make a difference when he's like this, but he seems so broken that she wants to try, no matter how futile. "He loves you, Clint. It's kind of disgusting how much he loves you, because I have to hear you talk about it all the time. If you're ruining his life, it's because he wants you to."

"I saw him looking at someone the other day."

She bristles at the admission, but stays quiet. She might know at least twenty ways to kill Coulson without Clint realising it was her, but it's not her business. Not yet, anyway. Not when Clint's in the state where she doesn't know if he's exaggerating things in his head, or imagining them altogether. She always trusts him, but experience has taught her that sometimes it's better to wait for more intel before making a call.

"Some junior." Clint continues, voice still in monotone. "I wish he'd look. I wish he'd find someone else."

"Are you telling me that if Phil, _your_ Phil, went after someone else, you'd be okay with it?"

"I wish he would. Then maybe he could move on with his life and I'd stop dragging him down."

"Oh, Clint." She pulls him tighter, and he lets her move him without resistance, boneless and so _sad_ it makes her ache. He stinks of booze and sweat, can't have showered for a few days. This is a bad one. "You're fucked up right now."

"Yeah."

Natasha decides that if she's the one around to help, then she's going to do it her way: practical assistance. If she keeps trying to do this emotionally sensitive thing, she's going to mess it up and maybe cause more damage than she fixes. So she falls back on what she knows. She's got Clint through this by herself before, and she'll do it again. She'll hold him steady while he puts himself back together as many times as he needs her to.

Before diagnosis and after diagnosis. Before the team and after the team. Before Phil and after Phil, if it comes to that.

"Okay, come on." She drags him to his feet, gets him upright with no resistance and only a little unsteadiness as he stands.

This is how they deal: she'll look after his body, let Clint take care of his mind.

"Coffee and food. You need to sober up."

"I think I need to drink more."

"I think I'd rather keep you in one piece, asshole. You know being drunk makes everything seem worse." She's holding most of his weight, and doesn't know if it's because he's tired or stubborn. "Don't make me carry you."

His movements are listless, eyes unfocussed, but he does as he's told and starts moving. Always a good soldier, and that's what she falls back on now.

Maybe he's over the worst, Natasha hopes, although she doesn't hold on to the idea as she's aware it's probably futile. She'll get him settled and then get in touch with Coulson, see what the situation is. Clint had a tendency to disappear after arguments, so it was possible Phil didn't know what kind of state his partner was in. Once she had all the facts, Natasha could deal with the situation accordingly. It's easy as breathing for her: collect information, assess, and take appropriate action. She's handled worse.

Except no one, not even Natasha, could have anticipated how bad it really was this time.

When Steve finds a water bottle half-full of rum wedged under some gym mats a few days later, Tony says it's his. Tony takes the righteous anger of Captain America at full force for Clint, and doesn't bat an eye. If Clint had been there, he would have been touched by the gesture. Would have told Tony he didn't have to take a bullet for him, but he appreciated it.

As it was, he missed the whole thing, because this time it was bad. Worse than anyone expected. This time, he did have to go to the ER to get stitched up, and they kept him there.


End file.
